Flying Colours
by ImagineI
Summary: The fire burns on in this one-shot continuation from 4x23. Delena fans, I cordially invite you in... Rated T/M


A new venture! Hello one and/or (*hoping*) all!

I very much hope this is well-received and would love to hear any opinions; I'm a fledgling in this fandom, just finding my feet.

I'm quite excited...

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Flying Colours

My arms ached, my legs ached, my neck ached. It was almost impossible to move my shoulders. My elbows and knees were weak, even my feet were ringing with exhaustion.

But, oh God, it was good.

It was not from pain, although the sensations had sliced right next to the good side of pain on a few tantalising, heart-stopping occasions.

No, this was pleasure beyond measure and Damon's current orchestrations were rendering me more and more immobile. His tongue was on me, with unimaginable flexibility, dexterity and- unexpectedly- a variety of texture.

I could no longer shoot my hands into his hair or clench my thighs as I could have days ago to attempt stopping him. My arms were thrown up on the pillows and only one knee was bent, though rather low- perhaps his aim was to relent when my whole body was down.

"I'm a vampire, I'm supposed to be unstoppable," I croaked. Damon hummed happily and continued, his palm reaching up and soothing the fire over my stomach and under my rib-cage.

It had been tantric, as in whole new spiritual levels of orgasm, that in one burst felt like a cosmic cleansing. In the next I was a sinner from hell tortured with merciless tongues of flames so sooty with smut I don't think even Caroline could imagine it at her drunkest and lewdest. Our bodies strained, melded, stretched and collapsed, re-enacting each one of our dances- no hand-touching like the dance at the Miss Mystic Falls Pageant, then hands everywhere. And we devised new dances, so that rising was sometimes subtle and soft, but those were calm times before the storm.

I hadn't been the only one shocked and rocked. Day One- preceded by Night One when I had told him I loved him post-cure, post-bond- had been more than good for him I was sure. He had tested me by declaring that he wasn't going to be too rough what with my being a Good Girl, despite my former bedroom-behaviour with him to the contrary. He wanted to eke out every shade of my newly freed self.

I had worked every trick I knew plus things I'd found myself imagining to do to Damon Salvatore from first glance two years ago. He inspired wickedness in me that he succumbed to in seconds.

It had been a beautiful revelation to surmise that Damon Salvatore's biggest weakness was the opposite of all his machismo: tenderness.

I tried more than a little of it, praising his awesome body from torso to toe, giving him the full god-treatment. It got very human for a while but after that he had me laughing so hard my ribs and abs hurt.

So consumed was I at one point I couldn't resist sinking my fangs slightly into his chest, retracting to watch the blood bud up from over his heart. He held my head like a chalice, then stroked my hair and swallowed in what I knew to be fear, though not of pain or death. It was a look of desperate trepidation I must've given him too, a fear that I would layer upon his love and devotion to the point of no return and then I would disappear, ripping his heart off heartlessly. These shared looks, the shared blood- it was sacrifice and matrimony. I had lapped at the wound, fingers frantic over every inch of his skin- a hunger trembling through me, finally acknowledged since the bloodjob at the start of my transition in the Grill's bathroom- and felt his perception of me melt and mould into- to employ the pun fittingly- a revamped Elena.

The time had not been spent incarcerated in bed- the shower and kitchen had been used to full effect and purpose. The former set the scene for one of the most powerful connections of my life, not sexual but emotional. We washed one another, wordless; but as they say, actions speak louder than words. From there it was a slow burn to a firework. The kitchen had been miles apart from that, all frothy fun, food and flipping more than pancakes. Yes, whipped cream featured. And cinnamon and yoghurt and honey and granola. And blood-bags. Breakfast. A bath was needed soon after that and we lazed in an easy, simple embrace, exchanging quip and tease like one would inhale breath- it was natural to us and we basked in the freedom to say anything anytime.

What I was currently experiencing was the post-script to Damon's devilry spanning four days and nights. His 145 years as a vampire had obviously been focused on the most carnal of schooling and he had passed with flying colours.

And there were so many colours. He was so delicate with me one moment, then intense the next. We were dancing and laughing one hour, gasping then collapsing with- who knew!- incense burning.

Right now, I was in blinding bliss, breathless as I pushed pathetically against the headboard and my foot slid down the sheets. He was ruthless, proving some point I couldn't put my finger on and I just didn't care to pursue just then. He sucked hard and my body jerked as the pleasure turned sharp for a second. I began to struggle, knowing that if I came this time I would be useless for a day at least- it would shred me, I recognised the pattern of pulses and contractions, this one would sting but make me sing in agony and ecstasy. And he knew it. He stopped my struggles, stopped a poor, slow slap, wrapping his arms around my now highly bent legs. I writhed and he disciplined, dishing out a surprising amount of strength even for him.

I turned my hot cheek to rest on the cool mattress and all the tension, all my breath rushed out of me as I was once again thrown up to heaven then caught by Damon immediately once I landed back on Earth. As I hit the peak, I found one last scrap of energy and sent it to my fingers to rake through his velvet hair. He groaned, laughed- that breath shooting sore pangs of pleasure through me like an electric shock- nipped and licked the smallest drop of my blood from a truly personal place, then dramatically fell back the short distance to drop his head on my thigh where he stayed.

He panted and nuzzled and I draped my other leg over his torso, which he hugged to him. His fingers stroked up and down my shin-bone and my leg almost slipped off his sweat-slick stomach. His cunnilingus was the dessert to a bout of coitus just as punishing for him- thank you Caroline, Cosmo and Kegel- as it was for me.

I readjusted my head and sighed in relief as my sweaty hair found some cold. Stillness- I needed stillness. Judging by Damon's gradually heavier, steadier breathing, so did he. We slept again, napping as we had done quite contentedly since the start. The sunlight was bright white and warm through the window.


End file.
